


Find Your Place

by MegMayhem



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, I got a lot of feelings for my inquisitor as a companion, Inquisitor as Companion, Lavellan as Companion, Multi, Other, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5021767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegMayhem/pseuds/MegMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look into my Inquisitor as if she were a companion instead. </p><p>Kenslynn Virnehn has traveled all of Thedas and has yet to find a place to call her own. Will she find one within the Inquisition, or will she remain a drifter with nothing to show for all her efforts?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unexpected Company

**Author's Note:**

> What was supposed to be a simple job of breaking and entering leaves Kenslynn face-to-face with a bit more than she was expecting. Luckily for her the Inquisitor herself makes an unexpected appearance before things take a turn for the worst.

 "As much as I love putting on a show, I could really use some help over here!“

Kenslynn could hardly see them through the throng of corpses. From what she could tell it was only a small party, but they looked well enough armed to the teeth and she wasn’t in the position to be picky. The elf yanked her dagger from another corpse, and it fell to the ground in pieces as if it had never risen from the dead.

“Can we play the friend or foe game, later?” She called as she kicked her heel into another corpse coming from the front. “I think we can all agree, corpses:  _bad.”_ She was spending an awful lot of time being cheeky, for someone who was currently overrun by reanimated carcasses.

Her goading seemed to work, however, for it wasn’t long after that a silver shield knocked a corpse away from her vicinity, clearing the path for another rogue to dart from her cover of stealth and begin an assault. The shield’s metal glinted in the rays of light filtering from the broken windows, and Kenslynn caught the angry eye of the warrior behind it. She scowled, before her gaze darted back to the enemy and she raised her sword for an assault.

Magic flared around the rogue as she pushed her daggers into another shambling victim. The flaring of energy made the tips of her pointed ears burn, cascaded shivers down her spine. Mages, too, then. How  _resourceful._

 How exciting.

Her new-found company made quick work of the remaining undead (not that she couldn’t have done it herself, but  _Creators_ , would that have taken forever). The din settled, and with a satisfied sigh, Kenslynn bent at the waist to pull one of her blades from a (once again) lifeless skeleton. She placed her foot upon its sunken chest, and with a grunt, yanked the blade free, but before she could return to her full height, a soiled broadsword was pressed against her throat.

“Whoa. Hey, now-“

"Drop your weapons,” the woman commanded, her tone brooked no room for argument, so Kenslynn opened her hands and the twin daggers clattered noisily to the tarnished marble. The shield lowered, revealing a face, sharp and scarred and scowling with an intensity that made Kenslynn wonder what she had done to warrant such a thing.

Maybe, it was her very suspicious presence, as the only survivor in a supposedly haunted Chateau. Oh. Right. 

The other rogue sheathed her daggers, and turned to approach her, followed closely by the two mages. They held their staves loosely at their sides, trying to appear non-threatening, but she could tell they were still on the defensive. Kenslynn’s green eyes tracked their movements, brow raised at the sight of such a diverse group. She kept her hands raised, doing her best to appear harmless, which was difficult with the various vials and smaller knives strapped across her chest and her waist, but they seemed satisfied with her compliance. One of them drew closer, separating themselves as the leader, removing her helm to reveal auburn tresses and telltale scar that ran across the bridge of her nose. Kenslynn gasped, eyes widening.

 "The Herald of Andraste?” She breathed, sounding awestruck.

Maeve paused, the mages at her back bristling upon Kenslynn’s recognition.

“Oh, wow,” the elf continued, ignoring their less than savory reactions. “Just… _WOW._ Fancy meeting you here.”

Kenslynn smiled. None of them smiled back. Especially, not the warrior, who instead drew the blade higher towards her chin with a growl.

 "Cassandra,“ the Inquisitor said simply, raising an idle hand. The sword fell away, as Cassandra straightened, and Kenslynn felt like she could breathe again. 

"How did you know who I was?" 

Kenslynn shrugged, scuffing the toe of her boot on the floor. She didn’t look at the Inquisitor when she spoke, choosing instead to jerk a thumb in Cassandra’s direction. "Former Seeker. Apostate mages…” she then pointed to the edgy spell-casters bringing up the rear. A flashy one with a curling mustache, Tevinter by the look of him, and a human woman whose expertly timed barriers had probably saved them all.  "It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.“ 

The mages exchanged glances, Kenslynn could hear the squeak of leather on leather as the Seeker gripped her shield tighter. 

” _Also_ , those Orlesian refugees at Watcher’s Reach can’t shut up about you. Been singing your praises two days now, since you took out all those Freeman.”

 The Inquisitor visibly relaxed, and she was sure the mustachioed mage chuckled behind the cover of his staff.

 "Who are you?“ Maeve demanded. “What are you doing here?”

 "So many questions,“ the elf replied with a lilt of humored complaint. "That must be why they call you  _Inquisitor_.”

The flashy mage openly laughed this time, causing the woman next to him to frown. 

“Kenslynn Virnehn,” she stated with a mock curtsy before she could suffer any ire for her sass. “Hunter and mercenary at your service." 

"You mean bandit.” This from Cassandra. Her stony expression seemed to imply this was not a favorable correction. 

“Well, yes, I suppose. If we are splitting hairs." 

"What are you doing here?” Maeve repeated. 

“ _Looting_ , obviously,” was her shameless reply. Though she had nothing to show for her efforts by the looks of her.   

The knight-enchanter spoke up for the first time. “Those bodies we saw in the Gallery, were they with you?" 

"I suppose you could say that." 

“But you’re Dalish,” said the warrior. “Where is your clan?” 

Kenslynn tried to be subtle about the way her fingers automatically raised to trace the filigree design of  _vallaslin_ on her chin. 

“Long story.” 

They all exchanged glances again, trying to discern an outcome for the situation without speaking. The Tevinter mage shrugged, and Cassandra made a throaty noise of disgust. 

"I’ve a plan,” Kenslynn chimed when they were silent long enough to test her patience, they looked at her. “I say, we fix this awful corpse mess. Get the hell out of here, and I’ll tell you my fascinating life story later?" 

"You’re injured,” Maeve replied, instead of conforming to her plan, lifting a finger to indicate the wound at Kenslynn’s side.  Kenslynn only blinked, owlishly, at her, before she lifted her right arm and noticed the lesion. A sword had sliced through her leathers and bitten into the skin underneath; open and bleeding, but not as deep as it could have been, and now that her attention had been brought to it, it  _hurt._  

“Let Haylan look at it,” Maeve insisted. The mage was quick to react, herding Kenslynn towards a chair, nudging her into it after removing a few books.

 Kenslynn fell, lazily, into the seat and lifted her arm above her head, as to not be an obstacle. While Haylan examined and poked at Kenslynn’s side the Tevinter mage (she was so terrible about asking people their names) wandered the library, examining the stacks and making increasingly perturbed noises of disapproval. Cassandra had finally replaced her shield upon her back, and sheathed her sword, but one hand remained steadfast on the pommel, as she kept close to the Inquisitor’s side.

 "Do you know anything about this place?“ Maeve inquired, slipping a lock of auburn hair that had gotten free of its braiding behind her ear.

 Kenslynn almost shrugged, catching herself in the act before it could disturb Haylan’s careful stitching.  "I know it’s creepy and full of corpses,” she deadpanned, trying and failing not wince as the last of the sutures were set and tied off.  Kenslynn looked down again to review Haylan’s work as she began to pack up her things. “Impressive. These look great,” Kenslynn chimed. Haylan smiled, briefly, pushing the curious rogue’s fingers away from the wound before she could ruin the effort.

 When Kenslynn returned her sights to Maeve, she found the Inquisitor still looking at her expectantly.

 "Ohh, you mean do I know anything  _other_ than that?“

 Before she could explain, the male returned holding a large, leather-bound tome with both hands. "Look at this,” he intoned with obvious revulsion. Maeve moved closer to him, scanning the text as he read out loud.

 "Infants and most small children will show no signs of magic. However, you can purge the body of unwanted elements before they take hold. Place leeches on each of the child’s limbs. When done, burn the leeches. Be sure not to inhale the smoke. Afterwards, wrap the child’s limbs in cloth blessed by a Chanty sister.“

 Dorian scoffed and closed the book, dust falling off of the worn pages in a cloud. "Page after page of this nonsense is bookmarked in here.”

 "It’s all superstition,“ Haylan offered.

 "Superstition can be very dangerous,” Kenslynn said, looking as close to lounging as she could manage in the uncomfortable wooden chair. They turned to look at her, as if they kept forgetting she was there. Clearly used to their travels just including the four of them. “It does explain this, though.” The elf sat up, leaning forward to pull weathered parchment from where she had tucked it into her belt. She held it out at arm’s length, Cassandra moved forward to take it from her. She handed it off to Maeve, who read this time.

 "There is no way the child could break through. She doesn’t even have training. So long as she stays inside, everything will be alright. No one will ever know.“ 

"Someone kept a mage here, in secret,” Haylan concluded, reaching for the journal entry to read for herself.

 "And judging by-“Kenslynn pointed to the pile of corpses they had defeated and then used both hands to gesture around the room. “All of this, it didn’t work out well for them.”

 “There has to be some way to stop this,” Maeve suggested, resolute determination threading her tone.

“Funny you should mention that.” Kenslynn stood, pulling at the bandolier across her chest to set it back to rights. “I’ve tracked all the going-ons to the balcony, but I can’t access it. It’s locked tight, and I’m pretty handy with a lock pick. We will have to find a key.”

 “Find a key?” the Tevinter repeated. “That could take-“

 “I’m sorry,” Kenslynn interrupted. “But what in the world is your name?”

 He took pause, looking nothing less than baffled at her sudden outburst.  “It’s Dorian,” he said, sounding haughty.

 “ _Dorian_ ,” Kenslynn repeated on the crest of a relieved sigh. “Thank you. Sorry, please continue.” He did not continue immediately, and judging by the way the other women were trying to stifle small smiles, he was not rendered speechless often.

 “It could take forever to find a key,” he finished, glaring daggers at the rest of his party.

 “Well, I found this,” Kenslynn said, pulling another piece of paper from the hidden folds in her jacket. “In the Garden. I think it’s some kind of… clue?” This time Kenslynn took a chance and moved towards the Inquisitor to hand off the paper herself, and deduced that it was a good sign when the others did not immediately move to intercept her.

 “It looks like some kind of statue?” Maeve turned the paper on its side to ensure she was looking at it correctly.

 “I think I saw a bunch of them on the second floor in the Gallery.”

 Maeve handed the paper back, though Kenslynn did not know why. A subtle gesture of trust perhaps? If so, Kensylnn supposed that she appreciated it.

 “To the Gallery then,” Maeve ordered, pulling her daggers from their protective sheaths.

 The statue had garnered another clue that lead them to the bed chambers, a painting above a fireplace that revealed yet another clue in turn. The third clue had them returning to the ballroom, and it was all starting to feel like a wild fennec hunt, until the final statue revealed that the creepy dragon had a purpose that was not strictly decorative.

Upon pushing the statue, the dragon’s tail lifted, and something small and glinting fell to the floor with a metallic clink.  

“I’ll grab it,” Kenslynn offered, vaulting over the balcony railing and dropping to the first floor before her company could protest. “It’s a key,” she called back, excitedly, lifting it above her head for the rest of them to see. “Think we should try it on the balcony?”

Maeve nodded, before a tilt of her head indicted that the elf should rejoin them.

Admittedly, they were all very surprised when the key worked on the balcony.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dorian expressed in a monotone, when the key turned and Maeve swung the door open. Kenslynn snickered behind her hand, her leather gloves did very little to smother the sound.

“What is that?” Cassandra’s question interjected, before the mage could respond to Kenslynn’s teasing. They converged onto the balcony to find the object of Cassandra’s concern. A box, glowing green and floating ominously above the railing.

“I’ve got a feeling  _that’s_ what’s causing all the trouble.”

Maeve stepped forward with a lack of hesitation that Kenslynn would later admit that she admired. When she placed a hand upon the intricate crate, a brief light flared around her, before the entirety of the container crashed to the floor.

Kenslynn made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whine. It was very anti-climactic after all. “Is that it?” She’d hardly gotten the words out before an otherworldly screech resounded through the courtyard. Darkened, foul-smelling fog appeared from nowhere, briefly forming into a swirling vortex before dissipating to reveal an Arcane Horror.

“I don’t think that’s it,” Haylan piped from the back.  

Cassandra’s sword scraped against its sheath as she pulled her shield free with the other hand. The two rogues retrieved their daggers near simultaneously, already bounding from the ledges as the mages lifted the staves.

Just as before it did not take long for the group to dispatch of the demon, and its remaining minions. Maeve dealt the final blow, and the creature collapsed and shriveled with a primal shriek.

When the battle was over, Haylan descended upon the Inquisitor immediately, busily checking for any injuries. Dorian and Cassandra joined the duo as well, and Kenslynn let them do as they pleased as she sifted through the remains for anything of interest.

Eventually, they were all looking at her again, but this time Kenslynn was too busy pulling something green and vile-looking off of her breeches to notice.

“Kenslynn,” Maeve called, when they had finished deliberating among themselves.

The elf, who hadn’t even bothered to eavesdrop, hummed back, distractedly, in some sort of vague indication that she was listening.

“The Inquisition could use someone like you,” the Inquisitor said with a smile, an unspoken invitation in her words, and staccato giggles escaped Kenslynn before she could stop them. Maeve cocked a brow at her.

“I doubt that,” the rogue replied. “But, I will take it as a compliment, I guess.”

“You don’t want to join?” She sounded surprised, and Kenslynn didn’t blame her. People were clamoring from far and wide to join the Inquisition, traveling across the Dales and the Marches to reach Skyhold.

“Of course I want to join,” the elf insisted, as if it should have been obvious and she’d forgotten her previous statement. “Hot food, warm beds, not having to sleep in the rain  _all_ the time…” she had started ticking off points on her fingers, but trailed when she realized that she had chosen mostly petty, selfish sorts of things.

“Oh, and, uh, doing something good. Of course.”


	2. Observant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenslynn arrives at Skyhold to find it already filled to the brim with skilled followers, and is having difficulty occupying her time. Luckily, people watching is one of her favorite hobbies, and there are plenty of people to watch.

_The Inquisition could use someone like you_ , Maeve had said, but Kenslynn had yet to determine what exactly she had meant. It was possible the offer had just been a way to keep her out of trouble, or to spare the Dales from one more mercenary looking for a way to cause problems. 

On the other hand she liked to think that Maeve saw something in her that she, herself, did not. 

There were times, every so often, that Maeve would seek her out in the Gardens. Not that Kenslynn ever referred to her as such. Only as Lady Trevelyan or Inquisitor- she did not seem to like being called _Herald_ , so the elf avoided it. Maeve would ask her questions about the Dalish, questions not quite suited for Solas or Sera, and Kenslynn would answer them as best as she was able, despite not having traveled with a clan for some time. They were thoughtful questions backed by a genuine curiosity that Kenslynn could appreciate; she was never simply asking to quell some ignorant rumor.

 She felt…  _honored_ at the prospect. There were certainly other Dalish in Skyhold, but the Inquisitor had gone through the trouble of seeking  _her_ out.

Otherwise, Skyhold was already full to bursting with any services she could offer.  A stable master all the way from Redcliffe, a leatherworker from Haven. The Inquisitor, herself, was a rogue. Skilled with a lock pick and a blade, she could probably even mix her own poisons.

So, whenever Kenslynn’s restlessness became overwhelming, she would leave her cozy nook beneath the gazebo in the courtyard gardens, and she would scale to the top of the battlements and observe. Never to spy, or to eavesdrop - just to watch. 

She saw Commander Cullen and Lady Trevelyan enjoying a game of chess, one day. The sun was shining, and something about its presence made the mountainous chill of the Frostbacks a bit more tolerable. Kenslynn was still wrapped up in her furs, however, not quite used to the cold. She rested her elbows heavy on the battlements and watched the game as it played out. She never knew who was winning until the end, because she had never really understood how to play.

Too many pieces, too many rules.

But there was something  _more_ to the game for them. Kenslynn could see it in the smile Cullen hid behind laced fingers, and the adoration that shown from beneath a thoughtfully furrowed brow. Sometimes the Inquisitor would laugh, and Cullen would stop hiding his smile, reaching a hand across the table for her to take.

⌘

Haylan’s own Commander followed the healer wherever he was able. The coincidence of the mabari's name putting questions that she’d never ask into Kenslynn’s mind as he trotted around the courtyard. The canine was present as Haylan tended to wounded soldiers with expert hands, or when she was reading quietly in her tent.

One time, the Templar from Starkhaven visited Skyhold all the way from Griffon Wing Keep. Kenslynn had heard it was to give a report to the Commander in person.

He called Haylan lass as he laughed and pulled her into his arms. Haylan smiled like someone had just offered her the sun and the stars, and Rylen smothered that brilliant smile with a kiss. Kenslynn turned away, ears burning (still not quite sure if the cause was embarrassment or jealousy), and she forgot all about her curiosities towards the canine’s name.

⌘

“You think that they don’t see you-“

His words made her jump, as they always did because Cole was the only one who could sneak up on her. She pushed a heavy sigh through her nose and tried to convince her heart to stop beating so loudly. She stood straighter, turning at the waist to face him.

“You  _think_ that they don’t see you, but they do.”

“I’m not spying on them,” Kenslynn defended, crossing her arms over her chest, hunching her shoulders like a child who had gotten caught with sweets.

“They see you,” he repeated, lifting his head to peer at her from beneath the brim of his overlarge hat. “See you there, waiting, wishing,  _hoping_ to be of use.  _Need me_ , you say by saying nothing at all.  _I can help_ , you scream with patient lips pressed shut.”

Kenslynn opened her mouth, but closed it again quick enough for her teeth to click.

“You  _are_  helping.”

He was trying to make her feel better. She didn’t even know that she had been feeling poorly until he had appeared, but that was so often the case with Cole that she didn’t know why she was so surprised.

“Thank you, Cole,” she said, casting her sights to the ground as she pushed her hand through her hair.

Cole smiled.

⌘

Kenslynn had always had trouble sleeping.

At night she would end up in the rotunda, after Fiona, Dorian, and the others had dispersed. She’d lean, heavy, over the railing, luminous eyes reflecting the light from the sconces Solas still had lit below. She could see him painting, as he was wont to do when he thought no one was looking, and perhaps it was rude of her to watch, but it was marvelous nonetheless. Skillful hands drew careful lines, and elaborate scenes across the walls of the antechamber.   

She would descend the stairs, with intentionally heavy steps, and when she reached the bottom he would be sitting behind his desk. As if there was someone else who could be responsible for the murals; as if the paint wasn’t still wet. 

“Do you not sleep,  _arani_?“ He asked one night, without looking up from whatever text he was pretending to be considering. 

“Do you?” she countered, well known to answer questions with questions. She halted her steps, moved closer to lean her hip against the edge of the desk. They stared at each other until Kenslynn’s gaze lowered to the jawbone strung from the cord around his neck.

 "I find time,“ he answered loftily, though, somewhat cryptically.

 "As do I,” she said, with a smile, pushing herself to standing once more. “ _On nydha_ , Solas,” she murmured, ignoring the brief flicker of surprise on his features, before taking her leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish words and phrases provided by Project Elvhen
> 
> arani: my friend.  
> On nydha: Good Night.


	3. Full Disclosure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenslynn knew there was something she forgot to mention.

When Maeve entered the War Room her advisors were already huddled around the table, talking animatedly in hushed whispers. 

“What’s going on here?” She asked (and honestly she found herself saying that quite a bit lately), closing the door firmly behind her and approaching the table as they all looked up at once. The talking ceased, but Maeve continued to gaze at them expectantly.

They had been the ones to call her here, so she had thought they would be a bit more forthcoming. 

Josephine’s lips parted as if she would be the first to speak, but she made a thoughtful noise, instead, pressing them together again. Maeve could tell that she was trying to find the most diplomatic way to handle whatever situation they were faced with now. 

“It’s about Kenslynn,” Leiliana interjected, subtle in her own ways but not as delicate as Josephine. Her outburst caused Cullen to frown at her. 

“The situation is not as simple as that,” Cullen said by way of explanation. 

Maeve didn’t respond. She waited patiently for the advisors to decide how they wanted to approach whatever they wanted to tell her. Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, clearing his throat. When he finished pawing at his skin nervously he picked up a note from the War Table and walked around it to hand it off to the Inquisitor. 

Maeve took it and looked it over quickly, eyes skimming the page as she read. “A Magister?” She asked when she’d finished reading, disbelief pitching her tone. 

“A Magister,” Leliana repeated. “Kenslynn’s father is a magister.” 

“So Kenslynn is Tevinter? I-I thought she was Dalish?” Maeve’s brow furrowed, a heavy feeling settling in the pit of her stomach. She had grown to trust Kenslynn in the last few weeks that she had been at Skyhold. Had she made the wrong decision? 

“There’s no reason she can’t be both-” said Josephine. 

“Perhaps she was lying,” Leliana offered in unison to the Ambassador. 

The two women frowned at each other, and Cullen shifted on his feet anxiously.

“Has anyone spoken to Kenslynn about this?” Maeve asked, and when no one answered her, she folded the note neatly and tucked it into her pocket. “Then I suppose I will do it.”

⌘

“Haylan,” Kenslynn whined, as she pushed her way into the healer’s tent. She wasn’t sure if they had a friendly enough rapport for her to whine at her, but Kenslynn hoped that seeming remorseful would make her problem somewhat endearing.

Haylan looked up from her work – tediously picking Rashvine seeds from their pods, staining the tips of her deft fingers red. “What is it?” she asked, assessing the elf for any immediate signs of injury.

“I think I messed up my stiches,” she explained, lifting her arm that was on the same side as the stitches in question. They couldn’t be seen since she still wore her tunic, but the gesture seemed to add emphasis to her desperation.

“How did you do that?” Haylan put her work to the side, wiping the residue from the herb off on a nearby rag.

Kenslynn sat, and she made a humming noise that was not at all an answer to the healer’s question.

Haylan stood, disturbing Commander’s nap as she moved. The mabari lifted his head and chuffed, so the mage pet his head gently, before crossing the tent to wash her hands in a basin of water. “Let me see.”

Kenslynn pulled her tunic over her head and let it fall into her lap. She did not seem at all perturbed at the possibility of being seen in only a breast band and leather breeches.

“Your wound is healed,” Haylan observed, retrieving a small pair of scissors to begin cutting away at the old sutures. “Why didn’t you just come back and have me take them out.”

Kenslynn hummed again. It was a sound she seemed to make when her answer to a question was probably something the asker wouldn’t like to hear.

“I thought I could do it myself,” she admitted. “But it turns out they are in a very awkward place.”

“You – what? You could have made this worse.”

“Sorry.” She sounded genuine at least. Haylan finished and Kenslynn pulled her tunic back on. “Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem. Maybe try to be a little less reckless in the future.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Kenslynn replied in sing-song, smiling as she left the healer’s tent.

⌘

She had only made it a few steps away from Haylan’s tent when someone flanked her, and she was being tossed over a shoulder. “Venhedis,” she growled, before she could stop herself. She kicked her legs, uselessly and the arms around her tightened. She wiggled and shifted, trying to see who had a hold of her.

“Cremisius Aclassi, you put me down this instant,” she demanded, despite settling and resigning to her fate.

“Chief wants to talk to you,” he explained when he’d finished laughing at her. He shrugged her higher onto his shoulder when she started to slip, and she hung limp in response.

“Then The Iron Bull can send me a missive, or a runner. This is just ridiculous. And barbaric.”

There was only more laughter from the Charger as he delivered her into the Tavern and dropped her gracelessly onto a bench next to the Qunari that had requested her presence.

Kenslynn huffed, pushing at her hair and tugging at her clothing to set everything back into rights.

“Kenslynn!” The Bull greeted in that booming voice of his. He set one giant hand upon her head and used the other to slide a mug in her direction. She winced as he ruffled her hair and she eyed the mug suspiciously.

“Don’t worry,” he told her picking up his own cup and taking a generous swig. “It’s that same weak Tevinter piss water you’ve been drinking since you got here.”

“Ah. Putting it that way makes it sound so much more appealing, thank you.” She took a drink despite her complaints.

“Speaking of weak Tevinter piss water, when were you planning on telling anyone you were from the Imperium?”

Kenslynn choked on her ale, spitting the rest of her mouthful back into the mug as she tried to recover from her coughing fit. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kenslynn stated, voice hoarse as she tried to recover a shred of dignity.

“That Dalish accent of yours is fake. It has most people fooled, but you need to work on elongating your vowels.”

Kenslynn hunched her shoulders, hid her expression behind another swallow of ale. He continued, despite her lack of response. “Your face tattoos are still too new to have been with a Dalish clan all your life. Sometimes, you curse in Tevene when you’re caught off guard, and you’re perfectly happy drinking Tevinter Ale, which probably has more to do with being homesick, than actually enjoying it.”

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Kenslynn complained, not quite interrupting and leaning her elbows on the table. Watching the Qunari from her peripherals. “I’m not subtle and you’ve got me all figured out. What of it?” She didn’t sound angry, or worried like she probably should have. She sighed and cast her gaze out across the Tavern.

“Nothing of it,” the Bull said, lifting his mug to signal Cabot for a refill. “Just wondering when you were going tell everyone, like I said.”

Kenslynn hummed.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Scared of what others might think? It’s not like you’re the only ‘Vint present, eh?”

“Kenslynn-“

Maeve’s voice cut through the din, bringing their conversation to an abrupt halt. The elf in question turned her attention the Inquisitor and it didn’t take her long to notice the familiar blue-and-gold accented parchment that she held at her side. Kenslynn groaned, clawing her fingers through her hair. “I think I’m going to be telling them right now.”

⌘

“Does this mean you’re not Dalish?” Maeve asked. The two women had walked to the stables, because sometime during their walk they’d decided to work while they talked. Kenslynn drew the brush over her mare’s flank in rhythmic strokes as she considered her response.

“I’m mostly Dalish,” she answered. She dropped the accent, reverting back to her Tevinter one since it wasn’t worth hiding anymore. “My mother is an Elven slave in Carastes. She was taken as a teenager- kidnapped. She was a clan First, so, considered quite a commodity in Tevinter.”

Kenslynn didn’t look to Maeve as she spoke. She didn’t want to see Maeve’s expression, because she didn’t want to know if she was being pitied. Kenslynn didn’t think of the story as a sad one. She focused instead on working the knots from her horse’s mane. “She was a personal slave to Magister Braxi, my father, which despite the whole of the circumstance was very lucky for her. He is a kind man. He loved my mother, but obviously in Tevinter a slave, is a slave and the affair would have been a scandal. They kept it a secret. They’re still keeping it a secret, actually. But from what I hear they are happy.”

Maeve put the she’d been using brush down, freeing her hands to pet her steed gently on the nose. “How did you end up with the Dalish? Were they your mother’s clan, or…?”

Kenslynn finally looked at her company, and she felt her breath catch when she saw not pity, but curiosity, and a genuine concern on the Inquisitor’s features. 

“Clan Virnehn is my mother’s clan, yes. You can only hide a child for so long, and when I was ten my parents sent me to them. They didn’t want me to end up in slavery.”

“Do you resent them for it?”

Kenslynn was silent for a moment, because resentment was not something she had ever taken time to think about. Being away from her parents and her home had always felt like a hole in her heart. Not fitting in her with her clan had only made matters worse.

“No,” she replied finally, and she sounded surprised by her answer, but it was the truth. “They could only do what they thought was best for me. Besides, I am sure I will see them again. Someday.”

Wishful thinking probably, but sometimes a sliver of hope was all a person needed to move forward.

“You didn’t have to keep this from me.” Maeve’s tone was understanding, but also chiding. “I’d like us to be friends, and I have to be able to trust you. On the battlefield and off.”

“I know,” Kenslynn replied, quickly, soft and contrite. “I’m sorry. I sometimes forget that not everyone is as closed-minded as I assume they are.”

“No more secrets?” Maeve suggested, gathering her horse’s reins to lead the beast back to its stable. Kenslynn did the same, trailing behind.

“No more secrets.”

**Author's Note:**

> Maeve Trevelyan belongs to klc-journei of Tumblr, and is the canon Inquisitor for Kenslynn's companion story.  
> Haylan belongs to siriusdraws of Tumblr, and is another example of an Inquisitor as a companion. 
> 
> Not enough thanks to both of them for allowing me to use their characters for this experiment.


End file.
